


Sweet Like Honey

by DrabblingSparks (ingenious_spark)



Series: Silmarillion prompts & short fic [5]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Drabble, Fluff, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Pre-Darkening of Valinor, Prompt Fic, Quenya Names, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 20:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15781536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/DrabblingSparks
Summary: Findaráto is looking for some souvenirs in the markets of Tirion, before he returns to Alqualondë. What he finds instead is a handsome elf.





	Sweet Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Laurefindë is Glorfindel’s Quenya name, as near as I can figure out! And Telerunkë is his OC sister, because we never get any of his family.
> 
> From a list of prompts over on my tumblr, [@oopsbirdficced](http://oopsbirdficced.tumblr.com). I open prompts semi-regularly, if you want to come check me out.

It’s a twist of fate that they meet one day, in the idyllic throes of their youth. Findaráto is in Tirion for a year and miserable about it, despite being able to spend ample time with his best friend, Turucáno. He’s wandering the marketplace, having lost Turucáno somewhere in the crowds, and a sweet scent catches his nose. A stall full of honey products, the banner a lovely embroidered golden flower. He takes a chance and steps in. Perhaps he can find some nice soaps to send his father, or some beeswax balm for his mother.

The elf who seems to currently be in charge of the booth is absolutely lovely. Findaráto is stricken speechless. He hurries off to the side and finds himself, in a stroke of luck, by the soaps. He contents himself with sniffing bars to try and see what his father will like, and sneaking glances over his shoulder at the pretty elf. He’s blond and has lovely deep brown eyes, to go with warm brown skin. He looks like the honey he’s selling, and Findaráro is smitten.

Presently another elf with the same looks drops by and harangues the first elf. Findaráto, dithering between lavender and sage to put off going up and actually talking to the lovely elf, focuses very hard on his decision, selecting the lavender after all. He turns, and almost runs into the first elf, almost dropping the soap as well.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” the elf laughs, gently steadying Findaráto. “My sister has pointed out that I should come check up on you, as you seemed to be having difficulty picking soap. Can I help you find anything else?” He asks, and Findaráto wills himself to speak steadily and not squeak.

“Ah, yes. My father can be picky with his scents, I just wanted to make sure I picked one that he’d like. Do you have beeswax balm? The kind carpenters and sailors and such use for their hands.” Findaráto’s accent comes out terribly thick, declaring for all to hear that he’s from Alqualondë, and he winces. The seller merely seems charmed, though.

“Picking up souvenirs? I’m glad you stopped here. I’m Laurefindë, by the way.” He introduces himself, ushering Findaráto to a stand of tins with stamped covers. Findaráto hesitates for a moment.

“Ingoldo,” he returns. Laurefindë smiles at him.

“A lovely name for a lovely elf,” he says brightly, and Findaráto can’t tell if he’s flirting or just being nice because he’s a customer. He errs on the side of caution, and doesn’t actively flirt back, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

“These are all of our ointments and balms. And I believe this is the one you were looking for.” Laurefindë retrieves a tin and hands it over.

“Thank you,” he says, popping the top off briefly. The thick balm looks like the stuff his mother uses to soften her hands. He seals it back up.

“All set?” Laurefindë asks cheerfully.

“Um, yes, I think so,” Findaráto says shyly. They head up to the little cashier’s table, where Laurefindë’s sister is buried in a book with a rather raunchy title.

“Ask the cute customer out yet, little brother?” She asks idly, and Findaráto squeaks, clutching his purchases to his chest.

“Telerunkë!” Laurefindë hisses, looking positively mortified. She looks up laconically.

“Oh my, how inobservant of me. However will I cope,” she drawls, and he shoves her out of the way. Findaráto pays for his purchases, feeling extremely awkward.

“I do think you’re pretty,” Laurefindë finally says after bagging his purchases. “And if you wanted to get a cup of tea, I’d like that, no pressure.” he mutters. Findaráto is blushing and nervous.

“I’d like that.” He blurts out. Laurefindë brightens.

“You’re so fucking adorable!” It’s Laurefindë’s turn to blush, embarrassed, and they laugh it off, and arrange the date for the next day. Findaráto hurries out, practically glowing, to search out his cousin and tell him the news.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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